


shape of my heart

by iserlohn (lincesque)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 20:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15590325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/iserlohn
Summary: “Would you like to come with me tomorrow?” Reuenthal had asked in a soft murmur when he had drawn away for a second for Yang to catch his breath.Yang had blinked at him, making a breathless questioning noise, eyes still not quite focused, biting down slightly on his already red and swollen lower lip.“To visit on set? I really want you to come,” Reuenthal said, adding the latter in with an intimate tone, fingers curled beneath Yang’s chin, thumb brushing over the edge of his mouth gently, an action which made Yang’s lashes flutter shut.





	shape of my heart

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be a tiny smol ficlet for my tumblr but it. grew. into. a. monster.
> 
> what is life. this is the actor au that no one asked for but are still gonna get anyway. cop out ending as usual. when can i get good :>

*

It’s actually Yang’s first time on set despite the countless times Reuenthal’s asked him in the past six months, ever since they became they admitted their feelings for each other.

The only reason that Reuenthal’s managed to get him to agree this time is by using a tiny bit of trickery - sliding the question in low and casual while they exchanged kisses on the sofa the night before, Yang tucked safely between Reuenthal’s arms, lying together chest to chest, thigh to thigh.

“Would you like to come with me tomorrow?” Reuenthal had asked in a soft murmur when he had drawn away for a second for Yang to catch his breath.

Yang had blinked at him, making a breathless questioning noise, eyes still not quite focused, biting down slightly on his already red and swollen lower lip.

“To visit on set? I really want you to come,” Reuenthal said, adding the latter in with an intimate tone, fingers curled beneath Yang’s chin, thumb brushing over the edge of his mouth gently, an action which made Yang’s lashes flutter shut.

Yang had made another sound with his eyes still closed, preoccupied with trying to wriggle closer, hand on Reuenthal’s chest. He tilted his head up to brush a soft, open mouth kiss over Reuenthal’s cheek blindly, missing his lips by centimeters.

Reuenthal had laughed then, gently, and corrected Yang’s angle with the hand still under his chin. The next kiss was slow and Reuenthal had felt the heat in his blood ignite fever hot, Yang making soft needy noises when he had skimmed a hand down between their bodies.

“I’ll drive us,” Reuenthal had told him as Yang clutched at him, panting as Reuenthal’s hand slid beneath the elastic of his loose house pants, nodding his head almost frantically in agreement.

“Yes, okay, please,” Yang had said, the last word trailing off into a half moan when Reuenthal’s fingers closed around him tight and hot and perfect.

“Thank you.” Reuenthal had kissed him on the side of the neck, nipping at the soft skin and hiding the pleased curl of his lips as he moved his fisted hand slowly. “Someone’s been bad,” he murmured, changing the topic, still mouthing wetly at Yang’s sensitive neck. “No underwear today, did you want me so much?”

Yang had flushed beautifully, cheeks furiously red, but he didn’t try to refute the question, ducking his chin almost shyly instead. After that, Reuenthal hadn’t been able to resist any longer, having gotten what he had wanted on both counts.

Yang obviously knows he’s been had the next day, when he’s woken by gentle kisses and greeted by Reuenthal’s smiling face, holding out a steaming cup of tea when he finally cracks open his eyes. The clock on the bedside table reads five in the morning.

He sips from the cup slow, mind and body waking up sluggishly, and resigns himself to his fate, letting Reuenthal bustle about his bedroom, pulling clothes from the closet before chivvying him out of bed and into the shower.

Reuenthal has an outfit ready and waiting for him once he staggers out of the bathroom, still quite damp. He’s pushed to sit down on the bed as Reuenthal snags a clean towel and gently dries his hair for him before draping it across his shoulders to soak up the stray droplets of water still remaining.

He helps Yang with his clothes, nothing fancy, just a comfortable sweater over a soft shirt and a pair of dark chinos belted tight around his hips. Only the thick wool coat that Reuenthal holds out for him is new, settling across his shoulders in a perfect fit.

Reuenthal tilts his head at him, taking a step back to admire his handiwork and Yang glances up in time to catch that particular look, along with the pleased, possessive gleam in his eyes as he guides Yang out towards the garage with a hand on the small of his back, where he had parked his car yesterday.

Yang had previously used his garage merely for extra storage, having no need for a car, preferring public transport or walking when possible.

However, after Reuenthal had started coming around, Yang had ended up cleaning out all the accumulated boxes of old journals and notes dating back to his early college years in order to provide enough space so that Reuenthal can park his car inside if he was staying overnight.

Reuenthal himself had absolutely no qualms about just leaving his vehicle on the street, but Yang, both worried about the car getting stolen or vandalised and also about Reuenthal being recognised by a stray fan or paparazzi, had insisted.

The car sitting in Yang’s garage this morning is a gleaming black, different from the shiny red one from last week and the doors open upwards, much to Yang’s bemusement. Reuenthal holds open Yang’s door and helps him pull it closed after he's seated, obviously in high spirits at his presence.

Yang settles into the soft leather seat with a sigh and closes his eyes for a brief nap when the engine purrs to life beneath them. When he next opens his eyes, rubbing at them with the back of one hand, they've almost arrived, Reuenthal turning a corner and driving towards a large, gated off building with the studio name printed neatly on the sign.

Despite how early it is, the place is already bustling. There’s quite a lot of people standing outside the studio gates, who wave homemade banners and the like when Reuenthal drives past, slowing down to a crawl just to be safe.

“Fans,” Reuenthal says to Yang, glancing over for a moment. “They sometimes come even earlier than the crew.”

Yang nods his understanding, grateful that Reuenthal’s sleek imported sports car has heavily tinted windows. He doesn’t want to be the cause of another outpour of speculation about Reuenthal all across the gossip columns. They’ve both been careful about keeping their relationship from the public eye, with only Reuenthal’s publicist and a handful of close friends from either side aware of their status.

It’s not that Yang’s ashamed of dating Reuenthal, because he’s not - how can he be ashamed of someone so handsome and charming and completely out of his league? But rather, it’s Reuenthal’s fame that makes him cautious.

The paparazzi are like vicious, thirsty bloodhounds, Yang’s learned. A casual lunch with an older, married actress suddenly turns into speculation of her cheating on her husband with Reuenthal. An accidental brush of hands with a co-actress suddenly becomes headline worthy and prompts several articles analysing their past interactions and the phrase ‘secret girlfriend’ starts getting thrown around. Just standing too close to another person would, and has in the past, cause large volumes of gossip on whether Reuenthal was about to finally be shackled down to a partner.

Yang knows that he’s literally a nobody - a random college professor who just happened to get very lucky, and he’s certain that if their actual relationship ever comes to light, Reuenthal would cop a lot of backlash and questions and would inevitably need to spend weeks avoiding his favourite hangouts and his personal friends. So Yang keeps himself hidden away, silent, never initiating contact or reaching out first.

The first few weeks of their relationship, after Reuenthal had held him tight and confessed his feelings, Yang had seriously spent it waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the inevitable to happen and for the universe and Reuenthal to turn back to him with a ‘sorry, I made a mistake’.

Reuenthal had noticed his slightly downcast mood, excellent at reading Yang as always and when he dragged the reason from him, it had ended up causing their first big fight.

“I can’t believe you would think that I’d just up and leave you,” Reuenthal had said, lips thin and eyes narrowed.

Yang hadn’t been able to meet his gaze for any length of time, twisting his fingers together and tightening them until it hurt. “I don’t have anything to offer you,” he had said eventually. “You’re handsome and famous and I’m just an insignificant -”

Reuenthal had grabbed him then, pulling him into his arms forcefully. “You’re not insignificant! You’re Yang Wenli, the most brilliant, gorgeous and the most amazing person I’ve ever met in my life.”

Yang hadn’t pushed him away, slumping in his hold. “But you have plenty of other gorgeous and amazing people in your life.”

Reuenthal had tilted his chin up then with one hand, making sure he was looking Yang directly in the eye. “But the one I’m in love with is you,” he had said with such seriousness that Yang almost couldn’t breathe.

Their fight had pretty much ended about there, Reuenthal pulling him back into his bedroom and spending the rest of the very long night using his hands and body and mouth convincing Yang that he was indeed very well loved.

Even now, months on, Yang sometimes can’t be quite sure everything is real, but then Reuenthal would turn to him with that warm, soft expression in his beautiful eyes and the worry in Yang’s heart would calm itself a little.

Reuenthal leans over him now, after parking the car smoothly and undoing his own seatbelt. He kisses him softly. “For luck,” he says when he pulls back, a sweet tilt to the curve of his lips.

Yang can’t help but touch his lips with his fingers even as Reuenthal turns away and pushes open his car door, immediately surrounded by a whole bunch of people.

Reuenthal crosses to the other side of his car, where Yang sits, chatting to his director and co-stars, and returning greetings as they’re called out to him. He opens Yang’s door for him and holds out his hand.

Yang flushes but takes the help offered, sliding his hand into Reuenthal’s. He’s smart enough to know that if he tries to push himself out of the low slung seat of the car without any assistance, he’ll probably make an even bigger fool of himself in front of everyone. Still, he can’t help but shuffle a little on his feet, uncomfortable as everyone basically falls silent to stare at him

Reuenthal puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him along into the building proper, brushing off questions about Yang and Yang’s identity with a casual, “He’s with me.” His tone brooks no argument or further queries, so everyone mostly leaves it alone after casting a curious glance or two.

Yang’s guided into the heart of the studio, Reuenthal’s arm giving him the feeling of warmth and safety, despite the unfamiliar setting and the numerous strangers they pass on their way.

It’s not until they reach the set for the day that Yang finally spots a few more familiar faces. Mittermeyer, along with Bittenfeld and Muller, is gathered at a table several meters off the set along with a few more people that Yang’s recalls having been previously introduced to.

Mittermeyer is the first to spot them and he smiles kindly at Yang before directing a narrow-eyed look at Reuenthal. “You’re late.”

Yang flushes again, realising that he must be the reason that Reuenthal isn't on time today. Reuenthal doesn’t call him out on it, merely shrugging at Mittermeyer, not even apologetic. “Please, you can always start without me.”

Mittermeyer snorts even as Bittenfeld stands and claps a large hand on Yang’s shoulder. “Good to see you again, Yang,” he says.

Reuenthal glances pointedly at the hand Bittenfeld has left on Yang and then raises his eyebrows to which Bittenfeld replies to by actually taking Yang’s hand and pulling him away from Reuenthal entirely.

Reuenthal takes a step forward, eyes narrowing dangerously even as Mittermeyer steps in between them.

“Stop it, you need to go in for makeup.” He crosses his arms and points his chin towards the bunch of makeup artists lurking just out of earshot. “You brought Yang to us and we promise to look after him, now scram and go do your job.”

Reuenthal turns to give Yang a long, searching look, a hint of worry lurking, only visible to Yang. Yang himself is a little unsure definitely, but he doesn’t want to keep Reuenthal from his work, so he digs out his best reassuring smile, doing his best to not slouch from where Bittenfeld is still holding on to his shoulders a little too tightly.

Reuenthal nods and then turns away, obviously reluctant, and he’s almost instantly mobbed by an entire crowd of perfectly powered and bronzed men and women, carried away by them to where presumably the hair and makeup section was.

Even Mittermeyer chuckles at that for a few moments, nudging Yang to sit down between him and Muller.

“Good morning, Yang,” Muller greets him, tone welcoming and eyes bright before he pushes away from the table and trots off somewhere. Bittenfeld rolls his eyes from where he’s sitting, next to Muller, but there’s a fond twitch of a smile on his lips.

Muller has that kind of effect on everyone. He’s the youngest of this bunch sitting here around the table, all of whom are counted amongst Reuenthal’s closest friends. As a result, he’s also part of the select few who know about Yang and Reuenthal’s relationship.

Muller’s always been able to put him at ease also, with his friendly, happy-go-lucky countenance and attitude. Case in point, he returns just moments later with a laden tray which he slides in front of Yang.

“It’s still fairly early, and I thought you might like some breakfast to start off the day,” he tells Yang, cheerful, elbowing Bittenfeld without looking away from Yang when he reaches out a hand to try and snag himself a sandwich.

Muller glances over to Bittenfeld afterward, still smiling. “You can go get something yourself.”

Grumbling, Bittenfeld nevertheless stands, shoving his chair back with a squeak of wood on concrete and drags the other blond at the table, Lutz if Yang’s remembering correctly, away with him. The last man, Mecklinger, ducks easily beneath Bittenfeld’s grasping attempt at getting him to also go along and remains seated, legs crossed elegantly.

Yang offers Muller some heartfelt thanks when he spots the steaming mug of tea in the corner, wasting no time in wrapping his hands around the heat of the light blue coloured ceramic and raising it to his lips.

“Reuenthal said you preferred tea over coffee,” Muller tells him, he’s holding his own mug, in a dark grey colour with the stylised icon of a wild boar barely visible between his fingers. Yang wrinkles his nose at the thought of coffee even as he does his best to hide the slight blush of his cheeks at Reuenthal being thoughtful enough to not only remember his preferences but also bothering to tell his friends.

To his right, Mittermeyer also has his own plate and cup and he’s slowly working through his sandwich with small, careful bites, paging through what looked like a script, brows furrowed.

“I’m sorry for making trouble for you guys,” Yang says softly, putting down his cup, feeling guilty. From the comment that Mittermeyer had made to Reuenthal before the latter had left, it sounded like Mittermeyer and his friends had agreed to accompany Yang today instead of doing what they needed to do.

“What?” Mittermeyer looks up and notices Yang’s gaze on his sheaf of papers. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” he says, waving off Yang’s concern easily. He leans forward on his elbows with a grin. “We all have a day off from filming and were planning to spend it here anyway. It’s all up to Reuenthal and his co-star today and we just happen to like his dramatics. Don't tell him I said that though.”

Bittenfeld returns with his spoils at that moment, dropping an almost overflowing tray onto the table and is just in time to overhear Mittermeyer’s last comment. Lutz sits himself down back into his own chair, glaringly empty-handed. He shrugs at Mecklinger’s raised eyebrows.

“Bittenfeld took the last of the sandwiches and muffins,” he says with an exaggerated roll of his violet eyes. Mecklinger reaches out and pats him on the back twice commiseratingly before he reaches out and easily steals three muffins and half a sandwich from Bittenfeld’s tray, placing one muffin in front of himself before putting the rest on Lutz’s empty plate.

Bittenfeld stares at the slight reduction of edibles on his plate before he seemingly shrugs it off with a twitch of one broad shoulder, instead turning back to Mittermeyer and Yang.

“Indeed, Reuenthal sure knows how to put on a show,” he says, referring back to Mittermeyer’s previous comment before he grins and winks at Yang. “Especially when he’s got such a pretty co-star to kiss.”

The entire table freezes a little, even as Bittenfeld actually starts laughing a little too loud. Mittermeyer shoots Bittenfeld a look that would’ve been lethal if it had been a weapon and Muller’s brows are furrowed as he looks at Yang worriedly.

Yang blinks a couple of times, eyes wandering around the table in puzzlement before he realises what they’re all worried about is him.

“Oh, it’s fine,” he says, raising one hand slightly awkwardly and making a vague waving motion. He redirects his hand to his hair, ruffling the back of it. “I understand it’s just Oskar’s job, I’m more than okay with it.”

The atmosphere on the table immediately relaxes again as Yang picks up his mug and takes a long sip from the now suitably warm liquid, the soft steam from the tea brushing against his cheeks comfortingly.

What he said was the truth, more or less. Yang did understand and admire Reuenthal in all of his roles, no matter what, but he would be lying if he said it never bothered him when he had to watch Reuenthal kiss his co-stars on screen or even worse, sit through the couple of raunchier sex scenes that he had previously filmed prior to meeting Yang.

“It’s all fake,” Reuenthal had explained to him earnestly once. “There are at least fifteen other people in the room with you at any time, under super hot studio lighting - it’s the least sexy thing you can imagine.”

Yang remembers this though and holds that memory close to his heart silently as he does his best to pay some sort of attention to the conversation that continues on in a lively manner at the table.

It’s close to ten in the morning when Reuenthal finally reappears and Yang’s plate is finally nearing empty, helped along by Bittenfeld’s sneaky fingers despite Muller’s attempts to prevent any theft.

Mittermeyer is the one who nudges him lightly and gestures to where Reuenthal’s striding down the hallway, obviously having been to both hair and makeup as well as the costume department. Yang can't help how wide his eyes get and the stutter of his heartbeat for a moment before it restarts, beating a rapid, fluttering rhythm against his chest.

Reuenthal’s clad in a beautifully crafted military costume, the black and silver only serving to emphasise his flawless complexion and striking eyes. His hair is swept back from one ear, curled loosely around his collar and they’ve definitely added a hint of colour to his lips. He smiles when he spots Yang, the curve of his lips almost sinful, and winks at him.

Bittenfeld snickers from the left side of the table and both Mittermeyer and Muller smile, seemingly delighted by how pink Yang’s cheeks are.

“I hate to admit it,” Lutz says as all of their eyes are cast towards the set when the director settles down into his chair and Reuenthal’s co-star for this particular movie also makes her entrance. “But there’s honestly a good reason why Reuenthal’s got so many fans.”

The actress at the center of today’s script is extremely beautiful with her large green eyes and artfully styled dark-blonde hair. She’s dressed in a long, draping gown with a plunging neckline that almost makes Yang worry for her modesty and she smiles prettily up at Reuenthal after daintily making her way over to his side when she spots him.

Yang can’t help how his eyes are drawn to where she has a hand resting casually on Reuenthal’s sleeve as she leans into his space. He blinks and sighs softly at his own unfounded uneasiness, glancing away from the set.

“Oh, she’s going all out today,” Bittenfeld comments, taking a large bite from one of his remaining muffins and dropping crumbs everywhere. Muller wordlessly picks up a couple of serviettes from the stack in front of himself and places them next to Bittenfeld’s plate.

He obviously notices Yang’s questioning look and jerks his head towards the set. “Our darling lead actress over there has been trying to get Reuenthal’s attention since day one.” Muller’s eyes are wide and he’s tugging on Bittenfeld’s sleeve in order to try and get his attention so he can stop talking.

Bittenfeld ignores both him and the flat stare that Mittermeyer is watching him with as well as Lutz and Mecklinger’s attempt to start another topic of conversation from further down the table.

“What, it's the truth,” he says before he drops his voice a little and leans in closer to Yang, right across Muller’s thankfully empty plate.

“She's been throwing herself at him since the first day,” he tells Yang and then grins, holding out his hand in a thumbs up position. “Don't worry though, he hasn't caved yet.”

Yang follows his gaze and is in time to see the actress place a hand on Reuenthal’s chest, leaning forward enough that he could definitely get a good look down the front of her dress if he so desired. Reuenthal’s also smiling at her, lips quirked in what Yang can tell is genuine amusement as they talk about something or another.

They look perfect together, Yang thinks to himself absently. Both of them with their perfect, flawless features and an easy elegant grace when they move. He glances down and sees a vague impression of himself reflected back at him from his teacup and he swallows, inhaling a little unsteadily. The two of them standing over there was the complete opposite of plain, uninteresting him.

The director calls out a few instructions and Reuenthal takes the actress’ hand and raises it, spinning her in place, a test shot for their scene. The hem of her silver dress flows in a hypnotic way around her ankles as she laughs lightly, the sound tinkling like tiny bells. She’s gazing deep into Reuenthal’s eyes when she stops, pressing up against him.

For his part, Reuenthal doesn’t push her away, still holding her hand in his own, head tilted down, listening to whatever she’s saying and nodding every now and again.

Yang can’t help himself, he can’t look away, mesmerised by how lovely they look standing there, more like a real couple than he and Reuenthal look at any given time.

Maybe, he thinks, Reuenthal would be better off with someone like her, someone who can match him in talent and beauty and who can also move seamlessly between each other’s circles. Then at least, Reuenthal would have someone he could be proud to show off to the world, instead of having to hide away with someone like Yang, stealing time together furtively, like he was ashamed.

Yang’s imagination runs a little wild and he imagines Reuenthal and her in public, hand in hand. He can almost see Reuenthal taking her to his favourite fancy restaurants, both of them gorgeous and beautiful, at ease even when surrounded by endless photographers.

He would drive his favourite convertible with the top down through the city center and she would put her hand on his knee across the seat. Then at a red light, Reuenthal would lean over and steal a kiss or two just like how he did with Yang now.

Yang swallows again, something painful twisting in his chest and his mouth feeling dry despite the half-cup of tea that he’s drunk. He does his best to try and shove his doubts to the back of his mind, reminding himself continuously that it’s just an act, that this meant nothing more than a job.

On set, Reuenthal is halfway through a scene, the actress turning away from him with tears that sparkle brightly within her eyes, visible even from where Yang sits.

“Don’t leave me,” Reuenthal says and he catches her hand, pulling her easily back into his arms. He looks down at her like she’s the only thing that matters in the world and kisses her passionately.

Yang’s forced calm shatters as he quietly makes to stand. He pulls away from Mittermeyer’s gentle grip on his sleeve and shakes his head at Muller’s worried look. “I just need to step outside for some air,” he whispers to them, so as to not interrupt the tender confession scene still playing out on set.

He manages to stumble his way down the long corridor, vaguely remembering this as the way Reuenthal had brought him in via, slightly proud of himself that he goes without a single backward glance.

There’s maybe the sound of some sort of a commotion in the distance behind him as he pushes open the door, but it’s far away enough that he can ignore it easily, only focused on making his way out back outside.

The instant he walks outside, he’s greeted by nothing more than blessed silence and the tinge of warmth from the winter sun brushing across his face. Yang tilts his chin up and closes his eyes for a brief moment, breathing in, a long inhale that fills his lungs with cool mid-morning air before he exhales a little shakily and lets the door close behind him with a quiet thump.

Reuenthal’s car is still parked where he had left it, the dark paint job gleaming beneath the natural sunlight and Yang turns resolutely away from it, not wanting the reminder of Reuenthal and the accompanying mental images helpfully supplied by his overactive imagination. Instead, Yang squares his shoulders and starts off towards the direction of the exit, following the helpful signs. He pats his pocket as he walks, relieved to find that his phone was still tucked away safely in his pants pocket.

He doesn’t know exactly where he is right now, having slept for most of the journey here, but once he gets out of here and onto a main street, he supposes he can always try to hail a taxi or call for an Uber in order to go home. If all else fails, he can Google map his way to the nearest public transport stop and figure things out from there.

Julian had shown him how to use all those apps before, a couple of times, and Yang’s mostly certain that he can manage it without assistance.

Where the trip from the gate to the studio building had only taken minutes in the car, it takes Yang much longer on foot to go the opposite way, leather shoes crunching on gravel, sinking a little into the unsteady surface that shifts unexpectedly every couple of steps beneath his feet. He’s not the most coordinated of people even at the best of times, but after a night of very little sleep coupled with the endless thoughts swirling inside his mind, each and every step just seems that much harder.

Yang slows just as the security gate comes into view, looming ahead of him. He swallows a little nervously as he takes in the crowd of people gathered outside and ducks back around a corner so that he continues to remain just out of sight of everyone. He takes quick peek though, curious despite himself and he notices that now there’s not only the fans that Reuenthal had pointed out before, but also legit Hollywood reporters too, with cameras and a film crew.

Yang hadn’t actually realised until now how big this production actually is and just how big of a draw Reuenthal’s name is as well. He leans against the dusty brick wall and contemplates on how to get out without drawing any attention, which is basically the last thing he wants to do after all.

He’s still concerned about the high likelihood that he might taint Reuenthal’s public image if anyone found out about their association, especially since now that he’s certain there’s they’re most likely not going to work out in the long run, no matter what Reuenthal might think. Relationships are a two way street after all, and after seeing Reuenthal with someone who was actually good enough for him, who was already part of his star studded, high flyer world and used to the lifestyle, Yang doesn’t think he can give Reuenthal what he needs or be who Reuenthal needs him to be.

That doesn’t mean it the revelation doesn’t hurt like a knife through the chest though, blade twisting viciously. Yang’s emotions are still not quite stable and he has no idea what he might blurt out loud in his panic if someone shoved a microphone under his nose, or pointed a camera at his face and asked him a question.

Just as Yang’s about to pull out his phone to try and see if there’s an alternate exit, the sound of footsteps across the gravel causes his to turn around, head jerking up hastily.

He swallows when he sees that it’s Reuenthal, still in full costume, making his way over towards him, the half-shoulder cape lined with pale soft-looking fur shifting smoothly with each long stride. Yang throws a panicked glance towards the only obvious way out and manages to shuffle a few steps in that direction before Reuenthal has caught up with him, one gloved hand wrapping around his wrist, the leather warm where it’s pressed against skin.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Reuenthal asks, pulling Yang a little closer.

He ignores the yells of his name and the loud mix of voices that start when the fans and reporters outside on the curb notice him. The only concession he makes is to turn slightly around so that his back is facing them and ensuring that Yang is mostly hidden from their view.

Yang, aware of their surroundings as always, throws a worried glance over his shoulder at the gathered crowd of people just outside the gate. He suspects that their conversation is just about audible to the ones standing closest to the entrance, but all of them have either camera phones directed towards them or are watching with wide eyes.

He tugs at his wrist to try and get it out of Reuenthal’s hold but to no avail. “Stop it, not here,” he says softly when it becomes clear that Reuenthal is not going to let him go of his own volition.

Reuenthal seems to know what he’s thinking, even under these circumstances, his talent for reading Yang is still second to none. He turns his head around slightly to look at the mass of people hovering just outside before he turns back to Yang once again. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be,” he says, voice dropping the words almost lightly into the air between them. “I’m free to do what I want, where I want, with who I want.”

His glance drops down to Yang’s lips and Yang takes a subconscious step backward. “You can’t,” he says, brow furrowing in worry. “Otherwise they’ll know and -”

Reuenthal watches him like a hawk, eyes narrowed and unreadable, still holding Yang’s left wrist in his own left hand. “Is this what it’s about?” he asks after a moment. “Do you think that I don’t want them to know about us because I’m ashamed of you?”

“I don’t think,” Yang replies, chin up. “I know.”

In response, Reuenthal moves suddenly, moving Yang in a counterclockwise direction with a sharp tug of his wrist before he leans down and kisses him. This all happens almost too fast for Yang to react, one moment they’re staring at each other, a respectable distance between them and then the next, Reuenthal’s lips are on his and his other gloved hand is sliding across the back of Yang’s neck, tangling in the short strands of dark hair there, pulling him even further into Reuenthal’s embrace.

The kiss goes long enough that Yang has to push weakly at Reuenthal’s shoulder for him to lean back enough so that he can gasp in short, needy little breaths, a loud clamouring noise echoing through his ears.

Reuenthal drops a brief kiss on the corner of his mouth and it’s only then that Yang realises that the noise he thinks he’s hearing echoing within his mind is actually coming from just outside the gate where hundreds of fans are screaming loudly. There’s the endless flash of cameras in their direction and the reporters look ready to ram the gate down in order to get first crack at Reuenthal and this latest breaking story.

Yang flushes red and then white in turn, embarrassed and horrified. “What are you doing?” he says, looking at Reuenthal who doesn’t seem the least bit bothered. “You need to think about your reputation.”

“I don’t care about my so-called ‘reputation’,” Reuenthal tells him, the words sounding a little harsh but his hands are gentle where they cradle Yang’s cheeks. “I only care about you.”

Yang can’t help the way his heart trembles at this soft confession and he barely resists the urge to sink back into Reuenthal’s arms again.

“I’m not ashamed of you, Yang,” he says after a moment, eyes roaming over Yang’s features and then following that path with the tips of his fingers, brushing over Yang’s fluttering lashes, across his cheek and down over his jawline. “I was too selfish - I wanted to keep you just to myself. I didn’t want anyone else to see you and realise just how amazing you are.”

He sighs, leaning down and pressing his forehead against Yang’s own. “I didn’t realise that it would make you think that I was keeping you hidden away like a dirty little secret instead of the treasure you actually are.”

“But - I - Surely someone like your co-star -” Yang starts but is cut off sharply by Reuenthal.

“No. I’m playing nice because we have to have a good working relationship, but the one I’m thinking of while I act through those scenes and speak those lines is you, not her.” Reuenthal closes the distance between them once more and kisses Yang again, a gentle and sweet press of lips for a moment before he licks into Yang’s mouth slow, wet and hot and very definitely not the sort of kiss you had in direct view of hundreds of yelling fans and professional journalists.

Yang’s face feels like it’s burning when Reuenthal finally breaks the kiss, eyes blinking open slowly to see Reuenthal staring down at him, a familiar heated hunger in the gleam of his eyes and the tilt of his lips.

“No,” Yang says, doing his best to sound firm despite the husky note to his voice even as the flush across his face starts crawling over his ears and down his neck now.

Reuenthal nips at the heated skin of one ear, out of view of everyone else and murmurs low, “I’m going to make such a mess of you tonight.” It’s a promise and Yang can’t quite help the tiny little tremble his body gives at these words.

He straightens up, stepping back as if hadn’t said a word, though the small smirk playing at the corner of his lips gives him away. Yang’s still standing almost immobile, bright red and extremely flustered, he can actually feel the heat that’s exploded across his cheeks even without raising his hands to touch the skin.

It doesn’t help that Reuenthal chooses that very moment to slide his hand deliberately down Yang’s thigh, ostentatiously looking for where Yang’s keeping his mobile phone before he actually slips his hand into Yang’s trouser pocket for it. Yang can’t quite help the cut-off squeak when Reuenthal makes a grand show of fishing Yang’s mobile out, fingers brushing much too close to the inner seam of his chinos for Yang’s peace of mind, and only then bothers to press the power button to turn off sleep mode and glance at the time.

“I still need to wrap up my scene before lunch,” he announces with a dramatic, over the top sigh even as he tucks the phone back into Yang’s pocket again. He turns towards Yang and nudges him gently with a shoulder, curling his now empty hand around one of Yang’s, intertwining their fingers.

Reuenthal’s hands are so warm, Yang thinks, still slightly dazed. He can only stare mutely as Reuenthal then proceeds to raise their joined hands to his lips, dropping a brief kiss over Yang’s knuckles in a cliched move that nevertheless still manages to push his internal temperature up a couple of degrees.

“Are you coming back with me?” he asks, watching Yang with warm fondness in his eyes, head tilting downwards slightly and waiting patiently for a response. A few strands of his dark hair come loose at the motion, falling to graze the side of his face instead.

Yang finally manages a nod eventually and lets Reuenthal guide him back the way they both had come. He watches from the corner of his eye as Reuenthal turns back slightly, just enough for the crowd at the security gate to be able to clearly see the kiss he blows towards them, inciting another wave of excited screaming, before he slides a possessive hand around Yang’s waist, tucking him in close.

Held close to Reuenthal’s chest like this, with his solid, reassuring warmth surrounding him, Yang finally feels content.

He can’t help the smile that curves his lips even as he lifts his chin to reciprocate the public show of affection shyly, leaning up on his toes to press a soft kiss against Reuenthal’s jaw, nothing more than just a brush of his lips against warm skin. He decides at that moment that he’ll deal with whatever comes when it happens, with Reuenthal by his side.

Reuenthal holds him closer, fingers sliding down to Yang’s hip, dropping a soft kiss into his hair. “I’ll always choose you,” he murmurs. “No matter what.”

“I know,” Yang replies simply because now, he truly does.

*

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://fortress-of-iserlohn.tumblr.com/)
> 
> pls come scream at me about reuyang XD


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